


Too Much

by LetMeEntertainYou



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Autism, Gen, Overstimulation, autistic!freddie, joger but they're not the focus, nonverbal, overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 03:45:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeEntertainYou/pseuds/LetMeEntertainYou
Summary: Freddie woke up and things immediately began to feel like a lot. The hotel room lights were too bright. The water from the shower felt like his whole body was being beaten by heavy weights. The whir of the coffee machine in the kitchenette made his ear drums shiver.





	Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> My blog is Disabled-Queen-HC on tumblr.  
> Anon asked: freddie going non-verbal hours before a show and the boys comforting him. (maybe even with some autistic joger? maybe brian being the only one non-autistic and always taking care of his babies?)

Freddie liked the scream of the crowd, the blinding dazzling lights in his face, the spandex suits hugging his skin. He loved the things that overwhelmed most, that caused others to need to take a break. It exhilarated him, left him wanting more, wanting his senses to be smothered in stimulus.

And that was the modus operandi for the group. Freddie (and Roger who was quite similar) would face the brunt of the concert. Blue and red and yellow lights would pour onto him and follow him like a hawk. Fog machines and fireworks would shower over him. Speakers would be closest to him, blaring into his ears sweet songs he made from his own mouth. It kept him (and Rog) stimulated and kept John away from the things that bothered him. Brian, of course, danced between the two worlds on stage, never really bothered by either.

And Fred usually wasn’t bothered.

Today was different though.

Today was weird.

Freddie woke up and things immediately began to feel like a lot. The hotel room lights were too bright. The water from the shower felt like his whole body was being beaten by heavy weights. The whir of the coffee machine in the kitchenette made his ear drums shiver.

 Overstimulation. A sensation Freddie couldn’t say he understood. A foreign experience he had no tools to help with. 

At first it was navigable. He went about his morning routine quieter. Slower. Softer. It only got worse though. Like the dials on the amp volume, slowly being pushed upwards.

He found himself stimming in frustration. Squeezing his eyes shut, hissing, cracking his knuckles. What had happened over night? Why had this happened on the day of a concert?

By the time he got into the car on the way to the venue, his brain began to cloud and short circuit. He wanted to thank the driver in his usual flamboyant way, but could only spit out a garbled, “Thanks.”

The anxiety grew, as did the feeling of everything being too much all at once. Freddie was barely able to crawl out of the car and stumble into his dressing room before the tears came.

It didn’t take long for the other members to find him curled up on a couch, sniffling and rocking. They all sprung into action, concerned for their oldest. What was wrong, they asked. Are you hurt? Did you fight with a friend? Are you okay?

Freddie wanted to answer. Maybe they could make light of this strange thing he was feeling. But not words came out. Only croaks and deflated groans. His lips flapped uselessly, nothing intelligible finding it’s way out. It only made Freddie cry harder.

Roger prided himself in being ‘soul mates’ with Freddie. They were so alike, it was scary sometimes. They always knew what was on each others minds, finishing each other sentences before bursting into uproarious laughter. But right now, he had no clue what was happening. He’d never lost his words. Never felt the way Freddie did. He stood there, patting Freddie’s head (which actually made the singer feel worse), not knowing what to do.

It was John, surprisingly, who figured it out. He quipped, “He’s gone nonverbal.” Looking at the other two confused members. 

This was all too familiar for John. When things became too much for him, his words were usually the first to leave. He spent many hours and days unable to form even a single word. It wasn’t ideal, but his friends and family always accommodated him, making him feel heard, even when his voice was gone.

“Everyone, step away, please,” John said, going through a mental checklist of things he did when he went nonverbal.

Brian and Roger obeyed, crossing to the other side of the room, eyes wide. Brian took the initiative to flick the light switch off, remembering some of the things he did for John when he wasn’t feeling well. John nodded in thanks.

Next, very quietly and slowly, John began to explain what was happening to Freddie. He was overstimulated. It happens even to the most understimulated autistic. He was safe and will be okay. He might lose his words for a few hours or days but that’s okay. It’s not a bad thing, just a thing that happens. Freddie would be okay.

And while Freddie found the explanation comforting, he couldn’t forget that they had a concert in only a few hours. A concert where he had to sing words and talk to the audience and chat with them and make them feel at home. And he couldn’t even mutter his own name. He clung onto the bassist, a fresh batch of hot tears running down his face.

John didn’t understand the urgency in Freddie’s face so he looked to Brian. It only took a few moments for Brian’s eyes to brighten. He gave John a thumbs up before exiting the room. 

John supposed Brian understood what was happening, so he decided he’d finish handling what was in front of him. He, alongside Roger, who was finally getting a grip on the situation, made the room perfect for Freddie. They shut the blinds. Put stray clothing over lights that couldn’t be turned off. Shoved towels under the doorway to both block more light and muffle sounds. All the things they did for John when he wasn’t well.

All the things Roger did for his boyfriend when he wasn’t well.

Barely above a whisper, he said, “I didn’t know people like us could get overwhelmed…” Autistic people like himself who found comfort in the overwhelming, he meant. It made him a little nervous to think one day he could have an episode like this.

John just smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “We’re all different, Rog,”

With that, they kept working until finally Freddie’s whimpering subsided. He lay on the couch, a rag over his eyes, body finally somewhat relaxed. Just in time for Brian to come back and and softly announce that the concert was rescheduled. He couldn’t help but to grin when he said he threw himself under the bus for Fred. “Told ‘em I had the runs. Can’t play guitar whilst on the loo, eh?”

Freddie went limp at the news, letting out a contented groan. He’d laugh if he could. He’d laugh  _really really_  hard if he could.


End file.
